


An Enchantment in the Light

by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold



Series: Bellarke Bingo [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Acquaintances back to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Location: New England Fishing Town, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Teacher!Bellamy, artist!Clarke, not quite a mystery but things feel ~off~, the vibes are fisherman sweaters and angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold/pseuds/she_who_the_river_could_not_hold
Summary: Clarke Griffin comes home to heal after a failed attempt at making her own path in life and even more failed romantic relationships. She arrives expecting the small New England fishing town of Arkadia to be the exact same, and in some ways it is. But the disappearance of Octavia Blake is a reflection of brewing struggles in the community and it still haunts the people living there –– namely Octavia’s older brother, Bellamy.Clarke and Bellamy haven’t spoken in years, but he proves to be a good distraction for her during this time and slowly they’re able to find a way to heal together. She just can’t help it if she falls in love with him along the way.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Bellarke Bingo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1420159
Comments: 18
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very loosely inspired by the indie movie, _Blow the Man Down,_ but also very much became its own thing during the planning process. Which to be completely fair, it’s still very much in that stage but I couldn't resist posting now so apologies that there’s no timeline for the next chapter! 
> 
> For references, I’m using Polis as a stand in for Washington DC and Arkadia is akin to any small fishing town in the Maine/New England area. This will be pretty much an emphasis on (emotional) hurt/comfort and Bellamy and Clarke healing together. In general, this is a content warning for discussions about drug use, alcoholism, and other similar topics throughout the story, though I don’t plan on going into too much detail about any of them. If that changes, I’ll make sure to put clear disclaimers before the chapter!
>
>> **Bellarke Bingo spots:** Teacher!Bellamy, Slow Burn
> 
> Fic title from the movie _The Lighthouse_. You can find the moodboard for this fic [here](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.tumblr.com/post/629990111869894656/an-enchantment-in-the-light-a) on my Tumblr! 

It was a bitter cold that year. A cold that seeped into your clothes and your shoes, curling around you and punching you in the chest as soon as you stepped outside and making it hurt as you breathed in. A socked-in sky with clouds that blanketed the horizon, adding to the already dreary winter atmosphere. 

Clarke Griffin closed her eyes with a wince as she closed her car door behind her.

Honestly fuck this weather.  _ This  _ was one of the reasons why she’d moved away and tried to never come back here.

But then her deep blue eyes opened up again as she looked up at the large white house in front of her and she sighed. Despite her anger at the weather around her and her best efforts, she’d found her way back to Arkadia once again.

Back home.

As her car had rolled into Arkadia, slowing down as she reached the small town, she’d taken in everything that had changed. 

Which turned out to be very little. 

The gas station was still the first thing you passed on your way in, the harsh yellow and red painted accents bright against the dull gray sky behind it. A single powerline led the way as she turned onto a smaller road, houses popping up in clusters before entering the small downtown area. And then promptly leaving it only minutes later. A few tiny apartments on the edge of the city, a break in them as she passed the entrance to the town’s wharf, before resuming her trek through the neighborhoods and homes. Some were crooked and a few newly renovated, some showing the wear of being erected in a seaside town while others had been built to stand the test of time and salt water –– as old and as grumpy looking as she knew the owners of them to be.

It was late in the evening so no one had been out to watch her car crawl through the streets, up the small hill towards the older and bigger homes. To the Griffin residence where she was greeted by a warm yellow light emanating from the front porch. 

A puff of air materialized in front of her as Clarke looked up at the house. 

She hadn’t responded to her mother’s text yet since she’d gotten off of the interstate, so it was reasonable as to why she wasn’t out on the porch waiting for her only child to arrive. Not that it bothered her.

Clarke had done it on purpose, in hopes to have a second to gather herself before going inside (as if somehow the eleven hour drive hadn’t been enough). But it was cold as hell outside and it didn’t matter how tightly she’d shoved the beanie on or how rubbed at her arms through the heavy jacket she was wearing, it was too damn freezing out to completely gather her wits together and hang around outside like a scared teenager coming home after curfew.

With one last sigh, knowing she was being overly dramatic, Clarke yanked her suitcase from the trunk and made her way up the steep driveway and the steps to the porch and front door. The sound of her boots against the wooden planks, mixed with the thudding of her suitcase against it, were enough to draw attention from inside as more light flooded the porch and the screen door swung open. 

“You’re finally here! Marcus, she’s here!”

Abby Griffin was as much of a storm as she always had been, sweeping Clarke’s suitcase from her hands and planting a kiss on her cheek before she could even fully register it. Her mom’s shout back into the house brought out Clarke’s stepdad, Marcus Kane, and he stepped into view at the end of the front hallway as she shrugged off her boots at the door and gave him a wave.

Before she could move further into the house, a bounding blur of gold nearly knocked her off of her feet.

“Down Picasso, no jumping,” Abby lectured half-heartedly, trying to help pull the dog down from Clarke. 

Clarke gave the golden retriever one last good pet before helping push her off of her. Even though she’d been the one to name her, she’d been more of her mom’s dog after therapy. She’d been sad to leave her behind when she’d gone to Polis so a large part of her was overwhelmingly thankful she still remembered who she was.

A quick hug with Marcus in the kitchen was followed by a ceramic mug being shoved into Clarke’s hands as she propped herself up against the island counter. In it was hot chocolate, still steaming and piping hot. Clarke tried to not let out a moan as the warmth flooded her hands, taking a long gulp from it. She’d have a burned tongue tomorrow but it was worth it. She really needed to get her car’s heater looked at if she was going to be here for long.

“I’d offer to spike it for you, but this superstar is four months completely sober so there’s nothing here,” Marcus said with a large smile, gently rubbing Abby’s shoulder as he looked down at her. Clarke tried to school her expression from surprise to a smile.

“Wow, congrats! I didn’t know…”

Her mom brushed off her awkwardness with a wave of her hand. Now that Clarke was looking at her inside and not through the tiny camera on her phone, she could see more of a brightness to her face. A fullness that hadn’t been there for a long time.

“It’s okay, honey. I hadn’t brought it up because I didn’t want to jinx myself. But I figured if the pills were gone for good, I didn’t need anything else potentially addictive in this household either. So I decided to cut out drinking all together too.”

Clarke nodded understandingly.

The town’s head surgeon having a pill addiction had certainly been news enough to grip the town’s gossip grapevine for years. Lingering stares and whispering at every turn. The last two years of high school for Clarke had been a minefield of hormones, stress about college, and driving her mom to counseling twice a week in between finding new ways to investigate the entire house for hidden drugs while also not letting her mom think she was suspicious of her. Eventually Abby had pulled through, something the entire family finally admitted to each other over dinner one night they hadn’t been sure was a possibility. But slowly the counseling sessions came to a stop and she married her fiance, Arkadia’s own mayor Marcus Kane, and life began again.

So if that meant Clarke would have to satisfy her need to get alcohol somewhere else, then she’d be happy to if it helped keep her mom’s streak going. Even though she would have killed to have a drink of even the cheapest liquor out there after the past couple weeks she’d had.

“Not a problem,” she replied with a smile, lifting the mug up to clink against Abby’s mug of tea. Her mom’s smile was so bright that Clarke couldn’t tell if a weight lifted off of her shoulders at the sight of it, or if it was replaced by a pang of guilt that she hadn’t been here to help facilitate her recovery more. Or even had really noticed the improvements she had been making.

That seemed to be something they’d brush under the rug for now, if they ever spoke about it though, and the next hour was mainly spent with the two of them catching her up on everything happening in Arkadia. Town gossip was impossible to ignore so she got the rundown on the marriages (as well as the divorces), the children born in and out of wedlock. The high school hockey team’s chances of winning state this year (higher than expected for the town’s size, still not great) as well as how the wharf was operating. That was the main time when Abby and Marcus paused, pained expressions on their faces, before moving on. A town as small as theirs was completely reliant on the fishing industry and that was all the indication that Clarke needed to know that things weren’t doing great in that regard. That would no doubt lead to job layoffs, reminding Clarke of the rough year in middle school where everywhere you looked you saw the damaging effects of a bad season. What a time to come back home.

She could only hold back so many yawns though before they profusely began to apologize for keeping her up after her drive. Marcus insisted on carrying her suitcase up to her room and Abby’s hug felt even longer than normal as Clarke got ready to climb up the stairs.

Unlike when she was younger though, she didn’t want to let go this time either. 

Clarke had heard multiple stories from college friends and even work colleagues that they’d come home to find their rooms made over. The expected transition from child to guest in their childhood homes. 

So she wasn’t sure what emotion she felt when Marcus opened the door to her room and everything was the same as how she’d left it. 

Her fingers drifted across the spines of the novels in her bookshelf, dropping down to brush them against the rough wood of the shelves. There wasn’t any dust, meaning that Abby had whatever woman she scheduled to over and clean also come in here. It was like she’d known her daughter would come back home one day. 

It was that thought that propelled Clarke to her bed, still shoved up into the back corner of the room. 

Squeezing the pillow tightly in her grasp, she curled up into a ball and let the tears finally come. The tears she’d been waiting to let out for days now but hadn’t had the chance. They burned at her eyes and her chest and throat hurt from holding back the sound of her sobbing. She knew their room was downstairs and probably far enough away, but she didn’t dare let herself be heard. Instead she silently rocked back and forth on top of the comforter and inhaled the smell of the laundry detergent the Griffins had used her whole life, even back when her dad had been alive and did all of the shopping. The pillowcase was becoming increasingly damp as she cried, stuffing her face into it and taking shuddering deep breaths to try and steady herself. Letting herself sink into the old familiar smells and letting her body tire out.

Eventually, still fully clothed and on top of all of the blankets, Clarke finally let the emotional exhaustion take over and she drifted off to sleep.

X X X

She woke up to the sound of absolutely nothing.

There wasn’t the sound of sirens racing by, cars honking at each other. There was no alarm blaring in her ears with the threat of missing the metro looming overhead if she didn’t scramble out of bed fast enough. Nothing coming from people walking outside, chattering away on the phone or random shouting. Not even a hushed voice in the corner, discreetly trying to whisper on the phone so as not to wake her up.

Clarke blearily blinked, stretching herself out as she slowly turned over to look around her. When her eyes landed on her unpacked suitcase in the middle of the room, she remembered where she was. 

Home, back in Arkadia. 

That was why she couldn’t hear the bustling sounds of downtown Polis coming from outside. 

She’d run away from everything she’d attempted to establish over the last two years (and failed miserably at, if she was honest with herself). 

At some point during the night, a quilt had been placed on top of her. She was still in her travel clothes from the other day and her university sweatshirt and skinny jeans had long passed their comfortableness. With a grunt, she hoisted herself into a seated position and weighed her options. She could just change into pajamas and return to the comfort of her bed, this time under the blankets. Or she could shower and actually attempt to face the day –– whatever that meant. 

As tempting as it was to just sleep the day away, something she was sure she’d be allowed to do at least for the first couple days here, she ultimately decided she had to be a grown up about the whole situation. Or at least be a functioning human.

The steam from the shower felt like it cleansed her more than just physically, the burning heat clearing through her brain fog. Her cheeks were extra pink when she stepped out and looking in the mirror, she felt like she looked much more alive than she’d felt for the last week or so. Anything to keep sympathetic glances away from her based purely on the speculation of how tired she looked.

She spent approximately five minutes half-assing her unpacking, resulting in her primarily grabbing the first things on top in her suitcase to wear for the day: an oversized navy blue cable knit sweater that had once been her dad’s, extra warm leggings, thick wool socks (staples for a lazy winter day). When she’d left the city, she’d dumped all of her fancier, more cosmopolitan clothes on her roommate’s bed. Even if Fox didn’t want them, she was an expert thrifter and would no doubt know what to do with them. It had left her with a much more meager wardrobe compared to what she’d been attempting to curate while in the city. But somehow it felt more her than any of that other stuff had. 

The wooden staircase creaked in all of the same spots and Picasso was waiting anxiously for her at the bottom of the steps, tail thumping against the floor. 

As Clarke gave the dog all of her deserved petting, she listened for any signs of life. She had a feeling that Kane was long gone for work at this point, but she was pretty sure she could hear the sounds of life in the kitchen. So with Picasso happily at her heels, she made her way back towards the kitchen. 

The smell of burnt toast and coffee wafted through the air and she was greeted by the sight of her mom hurrying about. The bagel sat half-neglected folded in a napkin on the counter but otherwise it didn’t look like her mom was planning on sticking around for long this morning. Though she did at least pause once she caught sight of her daughter, an expectant smile on her face.

“Oh! Clarke, you don’t have any plans today, correct?” 

This was more of the Abby that Clarke remembered from her childhood. Hair half-back with a sharp black blazer on, moving a million miles an hour. For a moment she didn’t feel like a 24-year-old failure coming home to lick her wounds. She was a freshman in high school, eager-eyed and excited for the future. But that was then and this was now so she shook off the memory.

“Not really,” she responded with a shrug, easing into one of the chairs at the dining table. 

There was still a pen mark on the side from her doodling too late into the night when she was a teenager and she absentmindedly scratched at it with her fingernail. 

Abby’s expression lit up. “Great! Would you mind dropping these off at Bellamy Blake’s house?” 

There were a few new things that Clarke was getting used to now that she was home, but her mom mentioning Bellamy’s name with a smile took the whole fucking cake. But before she could even process the request, her mom kept barreling on.

“With everything going on right now for him, I’m a part of a group of families helping drop off food for him!” She called over her shoulder, fishing through her purse for her keys. “I’d drop them off myself but his house is completely out of the way of the hospital.”

Clarke nodded along as if she was able to track everything her mom was saying and as if that was somehow a good enough explanation.  _ And what the hell did “everything going on” mean? _

She was destined to wonder though as only minutes later, Abby had planted a kiss on her forehead and made her way out into the garage. As Clarke listened to the sound of the car engine rev up in the garage, she looked down at Picasso with curiosity. She didn’t have any answers for her either though so Clarke ruffled her floppy ears and went in search of her beanie and boots. Maybe she’d also get breakfast out after dropping the baked goods off.

It was hardly the way Clarke had envisioned starting her time back at home. Granted, it was better than the initial alternative which had been to just lay in bed all day. Though she hadn’t completely ruled that out once she took care of this.

It wasn’t until she was halfway to his house when she realized she hadn’t even needed to check for directions. It was all instinct.

When was the last time she’d been to the Blakes’ house?

Her senior year of high school?

It was all a hazy recollection but she didn’t need it to be clear as her hands moved the steering wheel on their own, guiding her towards his house. The gray sky was heavy in its need to snow, the crunch of gravel underneath her tires making its way into the gaps between songs playing softly on the radio. 

A memory resurfaced as she glanced down at the radio: Bellamy vehemently arguing about the merits of rock music to the eye rolling of Octavia, his younger sister, at a high school party. The two of them could go at it like no one else and it was always entertaining, especially the tipsier everyone became. The Blake house was a small one, meaning it was usually impossible to truly get away from conversations. Maybe for other friend groups it would have been a problem, but they all made it work. 

Pulling up to the house now even only heightened the memory. She was pretty sure they’d partially spilled out onto the front porch, Clarke vaguely remembering trying (and failing) at attempting a puff on John Murphy’s cigarette. Wells had gone to chastise her when they’d heard Bellamy and Octavia’s voices overlapping. Everyone around them had giggled and shushed each other, listening as the two debated music genres as they’d interspersed their own opinions in between. It was an odd memory to recall, nothing particularly important to hold onto in it. But it had pulled itself from the depths of her mind and left behind a strange taste of nostalgia as she looked up at the Blake house.

Faded and sea-worn blue paint still covered the outside. She couldn’t remember if it had once had shutters or not, but for now most of the blinds were pulled tightly shut to create empty black squares against the siding. She would have assumed no one was home if it hadn’t been for the single golden light coming from the upstairs bedroom.

The cold settled in her instantly as she stepped out of her car, bringing back another memory of how damn cold it was in this part of Arkadia. This neighborhood, more clearly defined as working class than the one she had grown up in, was closer to the water and with that came a wind chill that was inescapable save for a brief stint in the summer. Shoving one hand in her coat pocket, Clarke immediately regretted not wearing gloves as one bare hand stayed out with the pastries. Hopefully he wouldn’t take long.

Rapping her knuckles agains the door, she winced at the sharp  _ zing _ she felt reverberate through her hand from the temperature. 

Though the light had been upstairs, it didn’t take long for her to hear the thud of footsteps approaching the door so she wouldn’t have to wait for too long and freeze to death out here.

“Clarke?”

Bellamy’s eyes widened with shock as he took her in. Unsurprisingly, since she hadn’t set foot in town in just over six years. She was almost equally surprised to take him in as well. 

He’d always been a fair bit taller than her, but the leanness of his high school days had now become a larger, huskier frame, accented by the large cream colored fisherman’s sweater he was wearing. More surprising than that was the beard he was sporting (looking like he had very much just anxiously been rubbing his hands through it). 

She blinked owlishly at him for a moment before thrusting her mom’s Tupperware of pastries at him. She couldn’t just keep standing there like a moron wondering what he thought of her after all of this time.

“From my mom,” she said quickly. “She couldn’t make it so I’m on drop off duty.”

“Well, tell her I said thank you,” he responded. His voice had the lilt of an almost-question with a hint of amusement to it as he accepted the Tupperware. 

Clarke took the moment to do another quick look over him, trying to figure out whatever it was that her mom had been referring to this morning.

He didn’t look sick, but he certainly looked tired. 

And, the longer she awkwardly stood there, possibly irritated that she was standing there. Though she couldn’t tell if that was actually true or if it was her mind playing tricks on her.

He cleared his throat, briefly looking around before his eyes landed back on her. She shouldn’t have been offended that he didn’t seem to know what to do with her but she couldn’t help but feel stung all the same.

“Are you in town for long?” He asked gruffly.

She lifted a single shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s undetermined right now.”

Bellamy nodded slowly. She knew of anyone here in town he would be the least judgemental of what it meant to not know what you were doing with your life. But that understanding didn’t seem to extend itself into furthering their conversation anymore.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Clarke tried to say breezily. It sounded stiffer than she wanted it to and she missed the ease at which they’d been able to talk when they were younger. Just one more thing to add on to what was weighing her down. 

When he only nodded in response, she couldn’t stop the annoyed snort of air that escaped her nose at the lack of effort from someone who usually knew how to at least fake it. His eyebrows quirked up slightly and if she wasn’t so busy being mortified, she would have picked up on his hyper awareness of her movements even if he seemed disconnected. But instead her face burned with embarrassment and she was thankful for the bitter breeze on his front porch, stinging her face pink already without the assistance of the deep blush.

That was most definitely her cue to leave. So she gave him a weak goodbye, more of a jerk of her hand to be honest, and turned on her heel to head back to her car. When she reached it, she looked back and he’d already disappeared into the small blue house and it was like she’d never been there.

Whatever. She’d done what she’d driven over here to do, she didn’t have to overthink this.

What had she even been expecting after all of this time? They hadn’t stayed in touch while she was gone, clearly for a reason.

Clarke’s grip on her steering wheel was too tight as she drove back into town, her knuckles white against the dark leather. 

She was mad at how weird the interaction was but then she was also mad at herself for feeling so much about it either way. Everything that had driven her home had been rooted in her inability to communicate with people, to really connect with them. Whatever was up with Bellamy was obviously serious if her mom and other families were dropping off food, but his detachment from their conversation had made it difficult for her to understand. 

And not understanding things was the last thing Clarke was able to handle right now.

Eventually easing her car into a parking spot on the main road in their small downtown, she made the executive decision to forget about the whole thing. It wasn’t worth occupying her mind while she had plenty of her own issues to work through. 

She was distracted enough when she looked up happily at the sign of the coffee shop in front of her. Grounders had been built her senior year of high school and she was delighted to see it still there. The town was void of any real chain stores or restaurants, and as much as she’d enjoyed expensive name brand coffee in Polis, she was excited to reunite with the place that had gotten her hooked on caffeine in the first place. 

Back in Polis, the coffee shops had either been minimalist or industrial, modern design making them almost more aesthetically pleasing than a place to relax. People there were always working, headsets plugged in or making deals over a mug of coffee that had gone cold from neglect during the conversation. They hadn’t been all bad and Clarke had certainly spent her fair share of time in them, but Grounders remained her ideal type of coffee shop. Navy walls were nearly obscured by vintage photographs of old fishermen and the people who had founded the town. Shelves covered in books and barnacled-covered shells from the sea just a stone’s throw from the back of the building. To her right as she walked in, a floor-to-ceiling blackboard took up the entire side. She’d spent many hours drawing on it in high school and she smiled to see that the trend had continued, new people leaving their own thoughts and doodles behind. All of the wood was stained with a dark finish and the plush leather chairs were screaming to be sunk into and forget about the world.

She didn’t recognize the person at the cash register, not that she really had expected to after all of this time, but she was greeted by the same smile that had always been a staple here. There was no rush to get to the next customer (there wasn’t anyone behind her anyway) and the teenager happily let her peruse the menu. It was nearly all the same save for a few updates, so Clarke settled on her favorite cinnamon-topped latte and a blueberry scone. Stepping to the side, she anxiously awaited her breakfast.

“Clarke? Clarke Griffin?”

Jumping a little at the unexpected sound of her name being called, Clarke turned around to see someone enthusiastically waving at her from a seat alongside the wall. It took her a moment, blinking rapidly, to realize who it was.

“Oh my god, Harper! Hi!” 

She’d had a fear that any interaction with someone from her past would be awkward once she came back, and her experiencing with Bellamy had certainly substantiated that fear. But her reaction to seeing Harper was genuine and she happily accepted the hug from her old, fellow blonde classmate who had jumped up to come over once she’d seen it really was her. 

“I didn’t know you were visiting,” Harper gently chided as they pulled apart. 

“Oh well,” Clarke stumbled a bit on her words, “it was a bit of a last minute decision. I didn’t really tell anyone.” 

Harper, being her usual wonderful self, nodded understandingly. She’d always been around in high school and even when everyone else was bickering, Harper had been the glue between everyone. Clarke could even already feel herself relaxing just standing next to her.

“If you don’t have any plans then, you should totally join us! I’d love to catch up.” Harper gestured behind her and Clarke’s eyes followed.

Whoever she’d been expecting to be with Harper, it certainly hadn’t been a toddler.

Her eyes widened at the sight, her jaw going slack and beside her Harper let out a laugh.

“That’s Jordan, and yes before you’re too nervous to ask, he’s my son. Monty and I had him just over a year and a half ago.” Clarke was still stunned, muttering out an apology for not knowing and only looking back to her friend at the feeling of her gently touching her arm. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss any big announcement. We don’t use any social media or anything so you wouldn’t have known.”

One more thing on Clarke’s list of things she’d missed out on, but at least this wasn’t on purpose.

It was impossible to say no to Harper’s engaging smile and the clumsy waving of the child in the high chair, so once she got her order Clarke made her way over to the table and sat down with them. Harper first busied herself situating Jordan, who’d managed to upturn his entire bowl of cheerios in the moment she’d been away, before turning back and giving all of her focus to Clarke.

“It’s so surreal to see you back here in town! Have you seen anyone else around yet?” 

Clarke shook her head. “Nope, just you. Well, I did just briefly see Bellamy Blake this morning. Dropping off some pastries or whatever for him from my mom.”

Maybe it was the cavalier way she said it, unwilling to think about how weird of an encounter it had been, but Clarke was surprised by the jerk in Harper’s movements as she passed Jordan a small deer plushie. Once her son had a hold of it, Harper’s movements completely stilled, her eyes opening a fraction wider as she glanced back at Clarke.

“Your mom… he didn’t tell you?”

The shift in Harper’s tone made every hair on Clarke’s arms stand up. 

When she didn’t answer, Harper shifted in her seat uncomfortably as she weighed her words. The somber mood that had settled over their small table made it feel like they were in a bubble. Around them, more people came in and ordered their drinks, chatter faded in the background alongside the sounds of the coffee being made. But all of Clarke’s focus was on her friend in front of her, who with only a simple question had made her clam up. It felt similar to when she’d come home in seventh grade and her mom had to sit her down and explain how the trawler her dad had been inspecting had capsized and everyone on board had drowned. 

Harper’s eyes had that very same look in them and Clarke’s blood ran as cold as the weather outside.

“I guess it’s been about eight months by now, but earlier this year Octavia went missing. She’s always been flighty, you remember, but this was different. Her place looked ransacked and she hadn’t told anyone if she was leaving town. Bellamy nearly lost his mind looking for her. I heard he went to every town nearby, knocking on doors with her photo. They had people searching the ocean, the mountains, every train and bus stop along the way.” Harper paused to chew on her lip anxiously. “It was like she’d completely vanished.”

Clarke’s mind auto-piloted, murmuring out an  _ “oh my god” _ followed up by the usual,  _ “I’m so sorry to hear.” _ Because what else was she supposed to say after news like that?

“They’re still technically looking for her, it’s way too early to close the missing person case,” Harper continued. “Unfortunately though with her profile, I think a lot of the cops think she just ran off. We’re trying our best here in town to still look after Bellamy. But you know I’m sure, there’s just no way to really prepare how to handle news like that. Obviously we hope she’s still okay but it’s never easy the longer it goes.”

Nodding numbly in return, Clarke was thankful for the interruption of Jordan’s babbling. They each focused on him and she smiled faintly as he happily took a hold of her finger with his own tiny, sticky hand. Blissfully unaware of the conversation the two adults had been having, Jordan cooed and blew a small spit bubble at them. The moment broken, Harper launched into updating her about the rest of the town, a similar conversation to the one she’d had with her mom and Marcus last night as if it was a script for people to follow, and Clarke let the words wash over her.

X X X

The rest of her day felt like a blur. 

After the conversation with Harper, which had luckily ended on a more positive note as she wrapped up with the home business that she and Monty had started, she’d found herself at a loss of what to do. She’d eventually landed on walking around the small downtown, picking up a few more cold-weather clothing items to fill in the blanks of her pared down wardrobe, but otherwise she just wandered.

It wasn’t like she and Octavia had been best friends. Friends for sure, but they weren’t the type to sit and gossip with each other and braid their hair at sleepovers. The hard angles of Octavia’s athletic body had mirrored the sharpness of her personality and the two girls had gotten along as well as they could have for being two teenagers with opposing approaches to life. But still –– Octavia had been a huge part of her high school life. She had been omnipresent, drifting from group to group and finding a way to be a part of every party and friendship (whether or not people were prepared for it or not). She’d been one of the few people, alongside Bellamy, to not judge Clarke when the news had come out about her mom. 

Seagulls had called out to her as her feet had led her past the small shops towards the pier. She didn’t go all of the way out, stopping instead at the benches that were cemented into the sidewalk at the edge. It was hardly beach weather and she found the moment alone to be a breath of fresh air, even as the briny smell of the sea tickled her nose. It wasn’t in view, but she could hear the sounds of the wharf already in the swing of work for the morning and it was like unlocking an old memory of coming down here with her dad. 

But then the memory was tainted by the connection of her dad being dead to Octavia being missing and the ugly idea that maybe she was gone too. The already gray sky seemed to dim around her and the waves crashing against the water felt even more violent than before, so she grabbed her shopping bags and hurried back to her car.

The heavy feeling followed her home. The house was still empty and trying to distract herself, Clarke threw herself into unpacking, Picasso happily joining her upstairs. Shoving a few old items deep into her closet to empty out her suitcase and the backpack she’d retrieved from her car once she made it back. She didn’t have a date for when she was leaving so she might as well make it feel like home. 

Once she was almost done with getting everything situated, she passed by her bookshelf. She’d briefly noticed it the night before but this time she paused to look closer at the books that she’d kept in high school. A combination of required reading books from English classes and then an overly large collection of trashy romance novels. She snickered reading some of the titles. It was hard to relate to her past self reading those books, secretly hoping for a story like that to happen to her. Not that anyone would have guessed that about her –– she’d maintained a strict, hard exterior around everyone at school. These books all looked so silly after everything she’d been through.

But she didn’t move from where she was standing. Maybe that was a part of the point of them though, a way to escape. And wasn’t that what she was doing by coming back home? Running away from her problems? 

And it wasn’t like she was doing anything else with the rest of her day after all of the reveals she’d experienced just this morning.

“What do you say, huh Picasso? Spend the rest of the day not using any brain cells?” She glanced down at her dog. Picasso blinked and wagged her tail. “Good enough for me,” Clarke muttered in return. She would have felt weird for talking to her dog if it hadn’t been for the comforting nuzzle she received in return for her question. 

Pushing herself far back onto her bed, fuzzy socks now acquired, she made room for Picasso to join her before situating the quilt she’d been wrapped up in that morning. The radiating warmth from the retriever was comforting, along with the steady movement of her chest moving in and out against the side of her leg. Cracking open the book felt like stepping back in time. It was a far cry from her one semester of literature in college, but it also was like being on the receiving hug of an old friend.

And after today, and hell the last couple weeks, that was exactly what she needed.

She lost track of time for the rest of the day, burying herself in the book and nearly finishing it, until slowly she heard everyone else arriving at home. Looking up in surprise at the sound, Clarke realized that it had grown dark around the house, a deep indigo bleeding into black. She’d forgotten how early it got dark here. Gently encouraging Picasso to move, she then made her way downstairs. 

Since it was her first official dinner back after arriving too late last night, Abby makes a big deal out of the meal. She refused to let Clarke help beyond just setting the table, after which she got banished to the living room. 

From where she’s perched on the couch, a quilt thrown over her, Clarke watched as Marcus and Abby worked to prep dinner. They’d gotten married Clarke’s senior year of high school and since then, most of the time she’d seen them was when they’d visited her in college. But those had always been jam-packed weekends and Clarke had never really seen them coexist so smoothly before. She’d never really had the chance. 

A burning, selfish part of her (the part that was still scattered by how her day has gone so far) wished everything had felt as similar as it had when she’d first arrived. She’d been so sure when she’d pulled up to Arkadia that nothing had really changed. She’d left Polis hoping to recuperate at home, thinking she’d find sanctuary here. Instead, more had changed than she could have imagined and she felt more disconnected and out of the loop than when she first got into her car to run home.

Luckily that icky, nasty gut feeling was easy to tamp down once she caught her mom’s eye and Abby’s smile stretched warmly across her face. 

It was good that things had changed, she argued to herself. It would have probably been worse if it had all stayed the same.

Once everything was ready, the three sat down at the small circle table. The meal was a staple around the holidays for the Griffin household and it was one Marcus had happily joined in on. It had been a while since Clarke had been able to have it and her mouth watered at the smell of the white clam chowder, thankful her mom hadn’t minded making it all this far past Christmas and almost into February. It was probably too much food honestly, the side salad next to the large loaf of French bread and plate of roasted vegetables that Marcus had prepped. It was extravagant and would probably be their leftovers for the rest of the week, but the intent was clear to Clarke who became emotional at the sight of it all. When she’d originally called to tell her mom she’d be coming home for god knows how long, a string of failures following her, she’d expected a lecture. Everything since then, combined with this meal, was an offering of understanding and support.

They dug in, the house and their bodies filled with warmth from the meal. Abby caught them up on the hospital and how it was doing, explaining to Clarke her new role in it that she’d taken. It was far from her old position before her addiction, but she sounded happier about it than she would have expected. 

Eventually discussion subsided, the sound of silverware clinking against their plates replacing it. Her whole day still askew from what Harper had told her, Clarke couldn’t resist bringing it up.

“I wish you’d explained more about Bellamy’s situation,” she said quickly before one of them could fill the silence, “before I went over there. I kind of made an ass of myself.”

Marcus looked at the two of them in confusion as Abby seemed to have to try to figure out what she was talking about before realization dawned on her face.

“Oh! I suppose you’re right, I didn’t explain it to you. I was in such a rush, it must have slipped my mind.” Concern flitted across her face. “It sounds like someone filled you in? I hope I didn’t make it hard on him.”

Clarke shook her head. “No, I ran into Harper at Grounders. She told me what happened.”

“It’s a damn shame,” Marcus responded, now that he was clued into what they were talking about. “We’ve still got people looking for her as much as we can. It doesn’t feel like Arkadia’s been able to completely shake it though. I think everyone’s a little on edge if you talk to them long enough about it.”

This conversation was a far cry from the surface level talk they’d exchanged last night. But a part of Clarke, the one that was struggling with returning home and figuring out her footing, wanted this. She was so tired of polite conversation and people dodging answers. Being blindsided by this had only fueled that feeling once she’d processed the news, rattled by her knowledge of it now.

Marcus’ statement made sense though and she remembered to keep her emotions in check. As mayor he would have felt the shake up of the town almost more than anyone else. 

Abby leaned over her plate some towards Clarke.

“It’s really devastating. The high school put him on a sort of sabbatical this year, to let him get back on his feet. He managed to finish out last year’s class but over the summer it just became obvious how much he was struggling so they gave him the whole year off.”

The story kept evolving in ugly ways, so much so that it felt like Clarke’s head was spinning. While it had been a while since she’d really hung out with Bellamy, especially excluding their awkward encounter this morning, she knew him well enough to know that a sabbatical would probably just make things worse. She’d never met someone who had been so good at throwing themselves into work or school to distract themselves. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling now, but her heart ached at the idea that the “solution” had been to stop him from doing his work.

The conversation pivoted, Marcus switching to cover his phone call he’d had with his mother that morning and her health. But Clarke’s mind stayed on Bellamy. Thinking back to that morning and how tired he’d looked. There had been an exhaustion settled around his eyes that now made sense. His missing sister, unable to do his job… it was a wonder he’d even come to the door. She hadn’t even remembered her mom being a fan of the Blakes when she’d been in high school, but in a scenario like this it was no wonder she’d let bygones be bygones.

It was while pouring herself another glass of water that Clarke came to a conclusion with her thoughts. She could practically hear her friend Raven screaming at her from all of the way back in Polis, telling her to be rational about this. 

Looking after Bellamy and taking him under her wing during this was hardly a healthy coping mechanism. Not when she’d come home to work on herself. 

But she couldn’t shake what he was going through, how he was probably all alone in his place. Her time with Harper clued her in that most of their friends had probably continued on with their lives while his had frozen into place. Well… it wasn’t like her life was anything but stagnant at this point. What was the harm of her channeling her energy to helping him? Not fixing, not fixing like with Lexa. But really actually being able to help him. Maybe that would in turn help her move past all that she had run away from.

She was determined: tomorrow morning she’d get breakfast and bring it over to his place and she’d help him get through all of this, be a friend for him so that he wasn’t as alone. Primarily apologize as well. 

At worst, it would at least help distract her.

At best, maybe they’d both come out of this as hopefully happier, healthier people.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was quite the accidental delay in updates, oops! BUT thanks to Lindsay (the_most_beautiful_broom on here) and her prompting an update for this through t100 Fanfic for BLM Initiative, the second chapter has arrived! We also now have a chapter total! I’ve outlined the remainder of this story and I’m very excited about what’s to come. 
> 
> If this is the first you’ve heard of it, t100 Fanfic for BLM Initiative is an initiative where writers and content creators are accepting prompts for donations that help support the BLM cause. If you want to learn more about it, you can check out the carrd for it [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)! The donation for this chapter was made to The NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund, a legal organization focused on fighting for racial justice and works to improve the quality and diversity of judicial and executive appointments. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story if you've been waiting since I posted the first chapter and I hope you enjoy it!

Clarke decided the moment he swung open the door and saw her standing there that the satisfaction at seeing genuine surprise on Bellamy’s face was totally worth the early morning wake up, 

“Breakfast is served!” She announced, holding up the two cups of coffee and bag of food. 

And like everything she did in life, she acted with the intent to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, and barreled into his house. To be fair though, Bellamy had all of the capabilities required to stop her and he let her waltz in without so much of a protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he simply responded with a bemused expression on his face. 

The inside of the Blake house was almost exactly as she remembered it, almost to her surprise really because she wouldn’t have thought it was something she’d committed to memory. Partially messy, a natural clutter that felt more lived in than anything else. It opened up into a living room that was filled to the brim with books, more than from when they’d been in high school, though all of the photos on the wall looked the same if she thought back hard enough. The hominess that struck her about it left a peculiar sensation, especially since it had always just felt like a party house when they were younger. Her feet automatically carried her into the small kitchen, Bellamy slowly trailing after her as he seemingly accepted his new fate with Clarke barging into his house. 

“I assume most of the time people just bring you dinner,” she called over her shoulder to him. “So I thought breakfast would be a nice change of pace!”

She shouted that last part, thinking he was still further away from her, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned around and he was nearly on top of her. 

“Sorry,” she muttered as he chuckled. 

“I certainly won’t complain about breakfast,” he remarked, his eyes moving from her face to the bag on the counter with great interest. 

“And I’m joining you,” Clarke quickly added before he could say anything else.

Bellamy’s eyebrows raised up only a fraction at her announcement.

“What sparked this idea?” He asked, handing her two plates now that he knew she was planning on sticking around to eat.

Clarke shrugged as she fished around for silverware. It only took her two tries to find the right drawer. “I felt like you could use a friend outside of someone just delivering food. Or well, a friend delivering you food but also staying to eat with you too.”

That drew an unexpected grin from him. She wasn’t sure what was funny, but he chuckled all the same. 

“Let me guess, you feel guilty. Yesterday morning, how far off am I by assuming you didn’t know what had happened?” His voice wasn’t accusing, in fact it was almost teasing. Still grinning at her with a crooked smile and she wondered if this was one of the first times someone hadn’t treated him like he was made of glass. Plus, he’d always seemed to enjoy her tripping up in high school, this really wasn’t too different. Her own smile quirked up.

“I––I didn’t know. And I want to apologize for being weird. Or whatever I was. I’ve been a bit out of sorts since coming home and it all threw me off. But that doesn’t mean I need you to talk about it now. I’m here to help distract you.”

“Distract me?” Now he was outright smiling, clearly entertained by this whole thing. She hoped that meant her plan was working.

“Well, yeah. I know what grief is like.” His expression sombered. Everyone remembered Jake Griffin’s passing. “If you’re here all alone and no one talks to you other than to say they’re sorry, it doesn’t actually help anything.” 

He slowly nodded but then smiled again a bit.

“And let me guess, you don’t have anything else to do while you’re home?”

Clarke huffed out a laugh. “You’re making me sound like I’m doing this for myself, let me bask in my charitable nature for at least a little while longer.”

_ She hated that he was partially right. She still hadn’t figured out the level of selfishness it was to focus on making someone else feel better to hopefully make yourself also feel better. _

Bellamy cleared his throat, pushing some of the breakfast potatoes around on his plate. “It is okay if you want to ask about it though. I get that people are curious.”

She started in on her food as she thought it over, focusing on piling up the food onto the plates he’d handed her. Grease pooled at the bottom of the bag as the smell of hashbrowns and bacon wafted out into the open. Classifying Mecha as a diner was giving it potentially more of a compliment than it deserved, but they really did have the best breakfast in town. It gave her something to focus on while she weighed her options.

She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by prying. But it really was all news to her and while she’d gotten a lot of information from Harper, it felt appropriate to get more directly from the source. And he was offering. 

“Well, I guess are there any leads? I know it’s been a while...” Her sentence trailing off made her question feel more ominous than she’d meant it to be. But hell, she couldn’t think of an easy way to ask.

The two of them had shifted over to the kitchen table. One she knew for a fact was different from years ago. This one stood tall, utilizing barstool style chairs instead of traditional ones. It was different, but she liked it. She settled herself deep into the seat, digging into the food piled high in front of them, before Bellamy spoke again.

“No.” His voice was low, defeated. “Not at all, somehow. You’d think there’d be something. A trail, a clue. Anything that would have come up after all of this time, but nothing at all.”

“What do you think happened? Honestly?”

It felt like she blurted it out, but to Bellamy’s credit, he didn’t even blink.

“I can’t let myself believe that she’s gone. I just––I just know that I’d feel it somehow.” He hid his grimace with a large bite of his omelet. 

Another question bubbled up in Clarke but she held back. For only moments ago being unsure of what to say, she now felt like she had a million questions for him. Probably all ones he’d had to answer so many times to so many people over and over again.

She asked anyway.

“Could it have been––”

“It wasn’t drugs.”

His sharp interruption meant that he’d somehow known exactly what she was going to say.

She closed her mouth and Bellamy let out a long sigh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’re not the first person to ask and honestly a part of me might have wondered it at one point too. But she’s been clean for years now. There’s no way it’s that.”

Shrugging, Clarke took a bite of her hashbrowns. “It’s not exactly a polite question, I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah well, you two were friends when she got busted for weed senior year right? So for you of all people it’s not actually that rude,” he counter-acted. 

“Sure, but that was just weed,” she protested. “We all know that’s because those guys try to get anyone they can for the smallest thing.” 

“And––” he waved his fork at her before she could continue, though her comment had made him smile “––the brief run in with the LSD.”

Oh, right.

There had been that. 

Hallucinogens were certainly viewed differently than some of the harder drugs out there, but that hadn’t stopped that from being an ugly senior week back in high school. And small town cops were far from willing to look at it in another way. Octavia hadn’t been the buyer so that had saved her a little bit, but Levitt, the new-age religious student hadn’t been able to walk straight for a week after Bellamy had confronted him. 

A new, awkward silence dragged out between them. She wasn’t sure she felt anymore confident in his point of view of what had happened. She wasn’t even sure that’s why she’d asked. 

“We––” he suddenly said, causing her head to jerk up to look at him. “We hadn’t been close in a while. So I suppose I don’t know for sure that it wasn’t drugs. I just can’t believe that it would be.”

She couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince himself or her of it more. But making Bellamy dwell on the darker possibilities or motives behind Octavia’s disappearance, somehow not better or worse than imagining her kidnapped, wasn’t really the point of why Clarke was here. So she was happy to change the subject.

“Okay then, so beyond being graced by my presence––”  _ a snort of laughter from Bellamy  _ “––who else has been able to help you out? What about Miller?” 

Last she’d heard, the two of them were still friends. Though the last time she’d been home, Octavia had been home safe and sound... and look where things were now.

Clarke watched as Bellamy anxiously rubbed at his beard. It must be a new thing with the facial hair since she didn’t remember him doing that in high school.

“Miller and I aren’t as close I wish we could be right now. He ended up becoming a police officer like his dad when he couldn’t figure out what he wanted to do with his life. He’s never said anything but I think he takes it personally that they haven’t been able to find O.” He looked down at his hands. Clarke held back the urge to place her hand on them, to steady the slight tremor she could see him trying to halt. “I think he feels like he failed me. And I don’t blame him but I guess… I get where he’s coming from. It’s hard to shake.”

The truth could feel sour sometimes. She understood that feeling.

She took the chance then to finally reach forward and gently place her hand on top of his. Had they ever touched before? Back when they were teenagers? Probably not outside of passing textbooks or beer bottles. But it felt more natural than she could have ever expected it to.

“You’re not a bad person for struggling with that,” she said quietly. 

His gaze zeroed in on her as she continued.

“When my dad died, a part of me blamed my mom. And I think she blamed herself too, so that made it easier for me to lash out. At the end of the day it wasn’t, because sometimes life is just unfair, but that doesn’t make you a bad person for struggling to reconcile your feelings with the unknown.” 

It was hard to follow up a statement like that with anything completely normal, so she indulged herself in his grateful smile at her as they ate some more, letting her words sink in.

She wasn’t even sure where they’d come from; speaking from the heart wasn’t her forte. But something about him and his anxieties and grief had brought them out of her. 

From there, once the emotional turmoil had been released, the conversation melted into that of a more casual one. She refused to let it only dwell in the fear of where Octavia was or the awkwardness of two people who hadn’t really spoken to each other in years. And slowly but surely, she could sense the tension leaving him. They excitedly discussed the books he’d been reading since being home, avoiding the topic of him being on a semi-forced sabbatical from teaching. She caught him up on how her mom and Kane were doing, about the few friends she had down in Polis. It already felt like describing another life to someone. Somehow that busy, hectic life in the city had all but evaporated into the cold of Arkadia. The slow small town bringing her back down from the strange high she’d been in when she’d been in Polis. The automatic-pilot she’d operated on for how she believed she should be had turned off. 

It was more honest than she’d meant to be with Bellamy. But even as her face burned with embarrassment about being that open with someone who was still more of a stranger than an old friend, she found him still looking at her kindly and she really did feel better.

Maybe this could be a mutually beneficial thing.

An actual friendship.

Finally their plates were cleared, only the lingering smell of diner food remaining behind them as Clarke knocked back the last dregs of her now-cold coffee. 

Bellamy, who’d been done a little bit before her, looked at her with amusement. 

“So when do we talk about why you’re home?”

Clarke laughed, shaking her head and quickly slid off of the barstool. Moving into the kitchen, she put physical distance between them and his question. 

“Nope. No sir. This is about you right now and getting you back on your feet, I’m not important. Now stop trying to get out of washing dishes. I’m not going to treat you like you’re going to break at any moment.” 

Shoving on the gloves sitting beside the sink, Clarke then spun around to ask him where he kept extra towels. She paused at the expression he had on his face. There were hints of confusion still, something that hadn’t left his face since she’d shown up, but there was a sense of affection and appreciation that she hadn’t expected. But he didn’t say anything, instead just nodding and wordlessly walking up to help her out. There was a strange intimacy to it that threw her. They fell into a normal conversation as she washed and he dried, but she couldn’t stop stealing glances at him while they worked together.

She couldn’t place what emotions he was feeling, but she suddenly wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling either. 

But despite the strange note that their shared breakfast ended on, when she was getting ready to leave and he admitted that her company had helped him feel better, she was genuine in her promise to return the next morning.

X X X

Seeing as how she had just moved back home unexpectedly, Clarke rationalized that it was probably more than fair that she helped out with errands around the house. Her mom had said it in kinder words than the ones echoing in her mind, but it “wasn’t like she was working right now.”

There was still a warmth that ran through her from her morning at Bellamy’s. Sure, she’d had some friends in Polis. But it hadn’t felt like that for a long time and after everything, she’d finally been able to truly relax around someone. And it felt like he had too. She knew how people treated you when bad things happened and from what she’d recalled of him, she’d known that he’d hate that smothering pity. And that was pretty much the exact opposite of being friends with her, which meant they actually probably could turn out to be pretty good friends after all of this. 

The cloudiness of her first two days here had finally been broken apart by the sun. A light blue sky belied the real chill in the air, almost making it feel okay outside as she stepped out of her car.

She breathed in deeply, feeling the way the cold expanded in her chest, and found herself smiling.  _ Again _ . It really looked like coming home had been the right call for her. 

Briskly making her way towards the store, that feeling hung with Clarke the whole way across the parking lot up until she went to grab a shopping cart.

The sound of ripping paper startled her and she looked down at the source. Beneath the wheel of her cart, snagged and dirty from leftover snow, was a crumpled up piece of paper. Clarke frowned and reached down to pull it out from underneath. Her mom had always harped on her about recycling and for fuck’s sake, there was a bin right up at the entrance…

She lost her internal rant as she looked down at the contents of the paper once it was in her hand.

Faded and worn, the flyer had been clearly out for a long time. Probably only recently loose to the elements. 

Octavia’s beaming smile looked back up from her, a crease cutting through her face while dirt stained the bold MISSING at the top of the page. 

Seeing it for real, beyond Harper’s story and Bellamy’s comments, brought the sinking feeling back to Clarke’s stomach. She felt her throat close up as she stood perfectly frozen, looking down at the flyer. It had been eight months ago; Harper had been right about her estimation. All of her physical stats were there. Apparently at one point she’d gotten a tattoo: the flyer mentioned that she had a tribal-inspired piece on her right shoulder and bicep. Other than growing into her angles somewhat, she looked the same as Clarke remembered. Same piercing eyes, same confident smirk. 

She felt ill. The ruining of the paper, even though it was from the elements, felt like it symbolized something. 

Cramming it into her purse, now unable to fathom recycling it even though she knew it was going to rub muddy snow onto her wallet, Clarke found herself hoping against hope that Bellamy was right. That he’d really be able to tell if something had happened to his sister and that she really was just missing, not anything else. 

The glaring fluorescent lights of the store left Clarke blinking rapidly once she walked in, squinting as she looked around to get a lay of the land.

Yep, GoSci Market was exactly as she’d left it.

Garish yellow-lighting that reflected off of the speckled linoleum floor, bright green plastic signs dictating which aisles to go down. It was a far cry from the all-organic grocery store that she’d shopped at around the corner from her apartment in Polis.

With a glance at the list her mom had texted her, Clarke began her scavenger hunt. 

She was almost done, torn between what brand of coffee would be stronger than whatever it was that Kane usually bought, when a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Well, well. Clarke Griffin is back in Arkadia.”

Clarke looked to her left, fighting back the urge to grimace at the sight of Nia Blackwell standing beside her.

“Hello,” she responded automatically. Thank god for all of those small-talk lessons drilled into her; great for when you didn’t have the effort to be more than just polite. 

Nia had been an imposing presence in Arkadia and the neighboring town of Azgeda for as long as she could remember. Supposedly at one point she’d been friends with a lot of the older women from town. She was only even a few years older than her mom, though Abby had always sworn they’d never actually been friends even when they were younger. But Nia had distanced herself over the years, namely because of her choice of employment. There weren’t many other ways to say it, not without teenagers grinning wildly and adults looking scandalized, but Nia ran a brothel perfectly placed in between the two towns. Maybe at one point it had been more of a secret. But that was then and this was now. And now there was the internet and even in the small town the puritanical approach to sex had lifted.

But only somewhat though, creating a black mark against Nia’s name wherever she went. The only thing though was that it was impossible to ignore the money that she brought in with it, which she was careful to selectively give back but only to those who hadn’t crossed her yet.

Everyone knew Nia’s girls. They were usually pretty easy to spot, always had been. Everyone knew everyone in town so if you passed a young woman with rougher makeup, skimpier clothing (as skimpy as you could get at least up here), then you knew where she worked. Clarke hadn’t ever had any issues with the girls or what it was they did, but she really couldn’t find it in herself to like Nia. Not with the calculating way she studied every person she talked to, looking for leverage or a way into your inner circle.

“How’s your mother? Kane?” It was a polite enough question. 

But coming from her it didn’t feel like it. She was always fishing for something. 

“They’re great actually. You know, excited to have me home.” 

Nia responded with a spindly smile, still studying Clarke. But whatever it was that she might be thinking, masked behind that frozen professional smile on her face, she hid it perfectly from Clarke. 

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she cooed back. As if family was something she cared about when everyone knew the second her son, Roan, had gone professional in hockey he’d never spoken to her again once he’d left. “I do love a good reunion. I won’t keep you waiting then,” her eyes flicked up and down as she took in her appearance carefully.

With a half-wave, Clarke watched as the woman continued on her way. The sigh of relief she was about to exhale though was cut off by Nia suddenly spinning around on her heel to look back at her.

“Are you working while you’re home?” She purred.

Clarke fought back the urge to let her jaw go slack. The glint in Nia’s eye was unmistakable.

“Yes,” she responded. It was a lie but there was no way she was telling this woman that she had free time.

“Pity,” she responded with a cluck of her tongue. “I recently had a spot open up in my lineup. You would have worked well––blondes usually do up here. ”

And with that as her own type of farewell, Nia turned back around and disappeared around the corner of the aisle.

Something curdled in Clarke’s gut.

A spot opened up at Nia’s?

Horrible images flashed through her mind. There were of course horror stories to girls like the ones who worked there. This wasn’t Vegas, where it was a part of the scene with rich men coming and wanting the best. This area was rough with an industry dependent on the fickleness of nature. Azgeda and Arkadia were twin fishing wharfs. Neither one could boast the best in anything. And sometimes it was all too easy for those girls to end up in trouble. That Clarke knew, but she could only hope she wasn’t right to worry about that open spot and the timing of Octavia’s disappearance. She highly doubted Octavia would have ever worked for Nia, but if someone had brought in trouble with them, O didn’t always know how to get out of it.

She finished running the errand with her heart in her throat and not enough courage to text and ask Bellamy about it. She’d made him anxious with her question about the drugs, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him about this.

With a determined mind, she shoved those thoughts aside.

And for the next couple days, it was easy enough to push the conversation aside. She was happy to forget about the way her skin had crawled at Nia’s offer. 

But it was on her fourth morning at Bellamy’s for breakfast that she let something slip. 

Their new routine of breakfast together was quickly becoming Clarke’s new favorite routine. She realistically knew they wouldn’t keep it up to this full extent for long, that somehow felt unreasonable and like she was monopolizing his time, but she was embracing it while they did. That desire to never leave her bed hadn’t returned. The pity party she’d fully expected to throw for herself every day since coming home didn’t happen because now she was starting her mornings with a purpose. Even if the rest of her day was usually more lethargic or relaxed, she at least had a productive and sociable morning. Now she had to actually get up early, drive over to either Mecha or Grounders for breakfast, and then make her way to Bellamy’s sleepy neighborhood. 

It was a good routine. She could see a bit more life in him since that first day she’d dropped off the muffins. She was aware that it was a bit of nasty irony for her to preach about the dangers of isolation, which had been her own goal when she’d come home, but it showed that it certainly wasn’t a good idea to keep grieving people at an arm’s distance away. And even if Bellamy was too nervous to leave his house in case Octavia miraculously reached out to him (the other option of it being the cops wasn’t ever discussed), she was happy to come to him. 

Which was a part of why she hadn’t wanted to bring up Nia at all.

But somehow her and Bellamy had landed on the topic of politics, and while she was thankful they agreed on everything they’d covered so far, that ended up being the accidental segway into a conversation she hadn’t planned on having with him.

“... and that’s why if we’re able to reduce the poverty rate across the board, it eliminates the need for people’s hands to be forced,” Bellamy was saying mid-bite of his bacon. “Sex work should be something people actively choose to go into, not feel forced out desperation. Then you wouldn’t have people like Nia, who while I don’t think she’s evil or anything, can’t do much above board with her girls. It’s just asking for trouble.”

Clarke nodded vehemently, the words coming out before she could think about it. “Exactly. Her girls would be safer and she wouldn’t have to approach people in grocery stores offering them a job.”

Bellamy instantly stilled. To his credit, it was far from a vague enough statement to play it off as a hypothetical. 

And Nia was well-known for hunting down fresh blood for her house. 

“She approached you?”

Clarke was far from a good liar, unless it was absolutely necessary, and this certainly didn’t feel like the time for it.

So she nodded, her mind flashing back to the wolfish look that had crossed Nia’s eyes as she’d asked her.

She was startled by the expression that immediately overtook Bellamy’s face. Her mind floundered trying to find the word. Distaste? Horror? Rage? For the smallest of seconds she was worried that he was mad at her, that somehow he looked at the interaction as a slight to her. But then it was stunningly clear that he was angry about Nia. Furious at what she’d propositioned Clarke.

The streak of protectiveness that flared in Bellamy surprised her. They’d only just begun to lay out the groundwork for a friendship, something beyond just the companionship of a grieving man during a hard time.

It was flattering, she couldn’t deny that. She also couldn’t deny the flush that came with how it felt for Bellamy to feel so protective over her and she could hear her gender studies professor making a snarky comment in the back of her mind at that notion. But she couldn’t help it; it warmed her that he cared enough to be concerned. 

“I want you to stay away from her,” he said gruffly, stabbing at his food with frustration. 

“I won’t,” she automatically replied.

He relaxed, but only somewhat. 

“Did O ever…?” She couldn’t fight the curiosity. It reminded her of the true crime podcasts that Raven listened to, going over things. It felt like the drug conversation all over again though.

Except this time Bellamy wasn’t as casual in his response, his eyes instead narrowing at her as he looked back up. Maybe she’d finally crossed a line that she’d been wondering about. At what point was it prying, rather than comforting?

“Just because Nia is bad news doesn’t mean Octavia was involved with her.” She could see the strain in him as he did his best to respond in a calm manner. No doubt it was an angle that had been talked about when Octavia had first gone missing, and here she was just rehashing everything. Because she hadn’t been here and she couldn’t help herself.

The conversation regarding Nia was clearly over and the warm bubble that Clarke had found herself in at Bellamy’s protectiveness towards her was waning. She prickled at the idea that he’d view her concern as flippant but instead of saying anything, she bit down on her lip and remained silent. At her sullen, challenging expression (a silent: “relax” being aimed at him), Bellamy’s own gaze dropped from her and focused on his now empty mug. More coffee apparently seemed like a good enough excuse for him to jump up. 

“So is today the day we talk about why you’re back home?” He asked brusquely. The hum of the coffee machine in front of him filled the air and he kept his eyes zeroed in on it.

Ah. So that was how it was going to be today. 

She hid her glare at him. 

This was more of her memory of their relationship with each other in high school. Stubborn, deflective. A competition. They hadn’t really been friends but it had been impossible to ignore the silent competition between them, from school to parties. 

A part of her was annoyed at him, for changing the tone of how these mornings had gone, but also a part of her felt a sense of relief at this version of Bellamy coming back. He hadn’t been a shell since after that first breakfast together, but this helped her sort out those strange confusing feelings she felt rear up around him. It was just because he wasn’t entirely the person she remembered and she was adjusting to this newer, older version of him.

But snarky, defensive Bellamy? She knew him. 

“No, I don’t think we will.”

“So you can come and insert yourself into my life and I don’t get to know why you came home after running away all of those years ago? Or am I just a charity case?”

Her jaw dropped at his accusation. 

Maybe that first night she’d considered it she’d viewed it as a possible distraction, but it had instantly become more than that. 

“I don’t view you as a charity case,” she snapped back. “But you’re going through a lot more than I am and I hardly see why it’s important why I’m home. And I’m honestly offended you’d think that little of me.” She couldn’t help how bitter she sounded at that last part. 

Wasn’t all of this, being back home, about her to find herself again? What did it mean if this was all Bellamy saw her as?

But, perceptive as always, Bellamy’s ears picked up on her tone and she watched as the tension in his shoulders eased away. He believed her. She could tell he was still skeptical, but he’d relaxed enough to know that she wasn’t lying to him. As much as that made her feel better, it was impossible to completely recover the good mood that they’d shared before the small outburst. And who was she to be surprised? Two people struggling to stay adrift; they were bound to lash out at some point.

But confrontation wasn’t Clarke’s strongest suit, even though she often preferred dealing with people at their most defensive. Especially since the whole reason she had come home  _ was _ to lick her wounds. 

So after they finished their second cups of coffee, the caffeine making her jittery, they stumbled through a weak attempt at a conversation and she left his house very much in the same mood she had on that first day there.

Something about Bellamy Blake was incredibly irritating. Which, she could only argue with herself, was something she seemed to have a special skill at bringing out of him. Even so though, they’d also agreed to try and get Grounders the next day to alternate away from Mecha’s greasy food for a little bit. Which meant that he also didn’t mind and even as annoyed he’d been at her question about Nia and Octavia, he hadn’t taken it personally. 

The strange mood carried her all of the way home. So much so that she entirely missed the fact that Kane was home and nearly fell over in surprise when he appeared in the living room behind her.

“What’s with the sour mood?” He asked once they’d laughed off her reaction and she’d resettled back into the dour expression she’d had since leaving Bellamy’s house.

But that felt like something she wanted to keep to herself. Her budding friendship with Bellamy, including its occasional pitfalls, was personal. It was too new, too unique to them, to be able to properly explain it to someone else. Neither Kane nor her mom had ever asked her where she went in the mornings, only adding to the privacy of her time with Bellamy. And as much as she’d warmed up to her step-dad, she didn’t think this was the time to really open up.

“Just restless,” she settled on. 

He nodded over her shoulder. “Well, you haven’t touched the studio since you got home. Want me to help you get it set up again?” 

Surprised, she turned around and looked behind them. He was right––she hadn’t so much as thought about the studio since coming home. And as much as she was surprised by that revelation, she was that much more surprised when she accepted Kane’s offer.

The studio had been a perk of being an only child and her parents’ unending support for her interests. Back before her dad had died, he’d converted the indoor porch on their patio into a studio for her to practice her art in. In middle school, it had been extravagant for someone her age. But that was how much her dad had believed in her, wanted her to have that creative outlet. Despite how cold it could sometimes get (Jake had passed away before he’d been able to attempt wiring heating out to it), it had become a safe haven for Clarke. When they opened up the glass double doors leading to it, Kane pulling down the sheet that had been on the other side, Clarke’s heart panged as she looked around. 

Even though her room had been unchanged, she’d been worried that they would have changed this room. She’d never meant to come home; why should they have had any inclination to keep it up? 

But it was how she’d left it. Messy, mainly. The biggest difference was that there were sheets on top of the large canvases she’d left behind, protecting them. A thin coast of dust decorated the boxes of art supplies––but it wasn’t the amount of dust that would have accumulated over the entirety of the years that Clarke had been gone, which meant that Abby still had this room occasionally cleaned. That meant more to Clarke than she could even admit. Once her dad had died, Abby had stopped coming in here. While Clarke had let it become her refuge, it had been a painful mark of Jake’s passion for projects and work. Knowing that her mom hadn’t tried to remodel it or let it fall into complete neglect warmed Clarke’s heart.

So when Kane handed her an old rag to wipe the dust away, and he got to sweeping the floor, Clarke determined that she felt decidedly better than she had earlier.

They moved around enough, uncovering each section, that Clarke didn’t feel the evening chill that permeated the porch. She and Kane talked about her mom the most, the pride he had for how well she’d maintained recovery rolling off of him in waves. He avoided asking her why she was home, instead focusing on Arkadia and filling her in on the comings and goings of the local government. She even laughed a few times. 

And that night, after her mom had come home and the three of them had sat down for dinner, she’d continued to feel herself coming back. 

Once in bed, her more positive mood let her reflect on that morning. And namely her emotions she’d been feeling since then. 

Her fingers plucked at the fabric of her blanket.

As much as none of Bellamy’s reactions to her probing questions had been an overreaction, she couldn’t help but wonder to herself why she’d been so bothered by it. Why she’d need to push herself to be distracted by spending the afternoon with Kane and then sitting around the dinner table for an hour after eating, chatting away to keep herself from dwelling on it too much.

But now she was up in bed with a clear mind and she’d reached the same conclusion as she had earlier. That even if you annoyed your friend, something that she and Raven certainly had done before, you didn’t always react that strongly. Feel that affected by their reaction nor that fear of how they saw you. That wasn’t how you worried about just friends.

So a part of her worried in that case, when sleep began to pull her under, that maybe she was having trouble seeing Bellamy Blake as just a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **About Nia and the brothel:** the squeamishness that Clarke feels is by no means a reflection (from me or her) about the nature of sex work. The seediness of Nia’s operation is meant to reflect the dangers of an unregulated industry where often young people are roped into it, not of their own choice, but out of necessity. Also small towns can be definitely pretty judgemental too and it’s a callback to the movie this was inspired by as well.. But yeah, just wanted to drop this clarification! Support sex workers! Support policies that allow people to choose what’s right for them and not have their hands forced out of economic need!
> 
> **a note on multi-chapters in the initiative:** I will be continuing to write these stories regardless, but donating for a chapter update secures its line up in my list of WIPs right now. You can always do a monetary donation, but we have other non-financial ways to contribute listed on [our carrd](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/) as well.
> 
> **where else you can find me:** [Tumblr](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/the_river_held) | [my carrd](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.carrd.co/)

**Author's Note:**

> I realized when I was almost done writing this that it’s a New England hurt/comfort version of a Hallmark Christmas movie and I’m not even mad about it.
> 
> **Extras:**
> 
>   * I may or may not have built out the layout for the Griffin’s house in the Sims for reference and I’m probably going to make Bellamy’s as well
>   * Headcanons that I have for this fic but don’t matter overall: Harper and Monty are definitely vegan and live very free from technology except for Harper helping run Monty’s CBD business social media, which she also helped design the branding for
>   * A trawler, the fishing vessel that Jake Griffin died on, is a popular type of boat for commercial fishing. It’s called that because it actively drags a trawl, or a fishing net, behind it to catch the fish. [Here's an example of one!](https://www.aoosk.ru/upload/iblock/358/sredniy-rybolovnoyy-trauler-proekt-50010.jpg)
>   * Besides just being an emotional outlet for Bellamy and Clarke, my goal with this fic is inspired how with Russian literature and movies you just feel cold all of the time
> 

> 
> **where else you can find me:** [Tumblr](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/the_river_held) | [my carrd](https://she-who-the-river-could-not-hold.carrd.co/)


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